Parenting Class
by TheQueenofBooks1000
Summary: When Chris had to take parenting classes for his son, he never really knew what he was signing up for. Merry Christmas, TheImpossiblyAwesomeWriter.


**A bunch of us at Total Drama Writers' Forum are doing this Secret Santa thing where our fellow authors post what they want and those who got them write stuff for them anonymously. In my case, the Santa I received was TheImpossiblyAwesomeWriter.**

**So...I hope you like this, TIAW! Or at least, I hope that you won't completely hate me for writing this if it sucks too horribly. Merry Christmas! :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN TOTAL DRAMA. IF I DID, THEN THE SCENE THAT YOU WILL READ MIGHT HAPPEN IN THE ACTUAL SHOW, AND I MIGHT GET SUED BY PARENTS FOR DESTROYING KIDS' MINDS.**

* * *

Chris tried to ignore the curious looks he was getting from the other people in the room.

The former Total Drama host tried to make himself comfortable on the green beanbag chair he was sitting on—which was not only stuffed with little Styrofoam balls, but probably rotten candy and boogers and whatever the hell little kids put in there. To distract himself from the curious stares, he appraised the decorations—a faded poster depicting The Wiggles, a crumbly rainbow mosaic, and a moldy banana, which was just sitting there for no reason at all. Oh, yeah, and the room was pink. And not just any pink, but Pepto-Bismol pink. Horrors.

"Mr. McLean?" a light voice jerked Chris back to the present.

Chris sighed, bored out of his skull. "Yeah?"

"Can you please demonstrate, in front of your classmates, how to change a diaper?" the teacher asked. She was a slight, pretty lady of thirty, probably. And under different circumstances, Chris would have definitely asked her out or something.

Yeah. Chris McLean, the former host who was fantastic in every way (in his narcissistic mind, at least) and nearly broke the world record for having the most hot tubs was in a _parenting class._

Obviously, he wasn't there by his own will, but the court had deemed him an unfit parent after the time he spent in prison, and was exhibited further by his willingness to torture a bunch of teens in international TV.

"How the hell do I do that?" Chris inquired, staring at Chris Junior, his son, mothered by his mutated Venus Flytrap Larry, who was now his husband/wife. Try to wrap your minds around _that _idea.

"Weren't you paying attention?" the teacher said sharply. "That was the third time I explained how. _Third!" _

Chris eyed his son, who was basically a head with plant genitalia or whatever those things were that was attached to his neck. His gaze traveled to the single diaper, which was the smallest size of diaper he could find, but it still wouldn't fit those spidery things Chris Junior has.

Well, suffice to say, Chris McLean was screwed.

The doors to the classroom opened, and a teenage guy walked in. "Hi," he said. "My name is Trent."

_"You?" _Chris leaped to his feet, enraged. Chris Junior scuttled away, frightened.

The teacher quizzically stared at Chris, and turned back to Trent. "Pleased to meet you, Trent. Um...why are you in this class?"

"Nine," Trent replied, as if it were an all-purpose explanation. "Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine."

The teacher sighed. "I honestly thought I signed up to teach an _adult _class," she muttered.

Trent walked to the front of the room, nine long steps per nine seconds. The minute he got to the front of the room, he grinned, a grin that was nine times wider than the usual human grin and nine times happier, horrifying the parent students and their babies.

"I am here," Trent began, "to preach about the nine religion." He took out a crumpled pile of papers from his satchel, and smoothed them out. He had prepared a speech, nine pages long with nine paragraphs on each page."

"Why are you preaching _here?" _the teacher demanded, placing a hand on her hip. "Young man, I am in the middle of a class, and you are disrupting it."

Trent shrugged nine times. "This was the ninth place on the ninth street of this town," he reported. "I checked Google Map nine times to make sure."

"This is getting weird," Chris muttered to Chris Junior. "Now I'm wondering why I even accepted this guy in my show."

Before Trent could begin his speech, the doors burst open again, and Owen ran in, looking outraged. "Chris MCLEAN!" Owen roared, before letting out a series of farts that stunk up the place. Parents covered their babies' noses, but forgot to cover theirs, so they passed out, Owen's farts working better than the best sleeping gas.

The teacher ran out for some fresh air, and presumably to call 911.

In Owen's arms, he carried a mangled coconut. A coconut dripping with juice and had chipped red paint on its exterior.

Chris's eyes widened in panic. "Is that—"

"Yes!" Owen snapped. "Mr. Coconut! I finally found him after YOU tossed him off the Island!" The big guy dissolved into furious tears. "How _could_ you?"

Trent ran to Owen. "You interrupted my preaching session!" he yelled. "I will kill you nine times for that, you insufferable fool! And I will brutally destroy your coconut fiend and offer it nine times to the Ninth God!"

"How dare you!" Owen yelled. "Nine sucks, anyway!"

"You take that back or I'll shove that coconut—"

"What the hell?" Chris yelled. He scooped up his son and prepared for a speedy exit, away from these bozos.

"Wait...I'm supposed to be killing Chris," Owen realized. He patted the deceased Mr. Coconut and glared at Chris. "I'm gonna kill you and eat tacos afterwards!"

"I'm going to kill you nine times!" Trent countered. Out of nowhere, he yanked out his guitar, which was nine feet long, had nine strings, and weighed nine pounds. He swung at Owen, who dodged the blow and began pelting Chris with ancient slices of pizza that he pulled from his pants.

"I knew that nothing good was going to come out of this parenting class," Chris sobbed as a pizza landed on his fabulous hair, clutching poor Chris Junior close. "Larry was wrong!"

Suddenly, the remains of Mr. Coconut flew in the air, and they all watched, amazed (Trent being nine times more amazed that the other three), as bright light illuminated the coconut's broken form and—lo and behold! He was intact again.

The trio were stunned. That explained why they saw Chef cutting him up in the second season, way long after his death! The fruit can resurrect!

"Mr. Coconut!" Owen cried out joyfully.

Mr. Coconut did not acknowledge any of them. Instead, he rolled on the floor and headed to the moldy banana in the corner of the room, mentioned earlier in this pointless fic. He got down on one knee and proposed. The banana and the mutated coconut which apparently had ONE knee since it was mentioned earlier lived happily ever after.

Chris, Owen, Trent, and Chris Junior became Mr. and Mrs. Coconut's slaves as they plotted world domination, and Larry the Mutant Plant filed for divorce, realizing that he/she/it could do much better than Chris McLean.

* * *

**I don't really write 'funny insanity' that much. I love reading fics like those (especially if they involve Psycho Trent), but I haven't actually _written _one before and this is totally out of my comfort zone. But I hoped you liked it. Now it's one in the morning and I really need to sleep. **


End file.
